


Days 15 and 18

by marvel_onomus



Series: A month of whump 2020 [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Michelle Jones, Spideychelle, Whump, amow 2020, in that order, whumpmonth 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvel_onomus/pseuds/marvel_onomus
Summary: As he stared at their texts, just a little nauseated by the light from the screen, Peter came up with an incredibly genius plan to get out of his current predicament.“Hey MJ ily pls comw break me out of here”, he typed, then pressed send.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: A month of whump 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729459
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! This was written for the month of whump challenge that can be found on my tumblr @marvel-ous-shitposts under the tags #whumpmonth 2020, and #amow 2020. I wrote them in April, and am posting them here now that they're all finished.

Peter hated being in the med-bay. It wasn’t like he was even that hurt, just a few tiny cracks in his ribs and a mild concussion from a fight with a deranged lizard-man (which he _won_ ), but still Mr. Stark insisted on keeping him trapped here until he was “completely healed.”  
He’d already finished the few simple books they’d let him read, and done just about every activity he could think of while confined to the room. Still, he was bored out of his mind.   
Finally, despite Mr. Stark having repeatedly told him not to, he caved and pulled out his phone. It opened to a conversation with MJ, and he smiled to himself, blushing.   
As he stared at their texts, just a little nauseated by the light from the screen, Peter came up with an incredibly genius plan to get out of his current predicament.   
_“Hey MJ ily pls comw break me out of here”_ , he typed, then pressed send.   
It only took a few seconds for her text bubble to pop up, followed by her reply.   
_“I’m in class dummy”_  
 _“And don’t you have a concussion? Why are you texting??”_  
Peter frowned, typing out his response notably slower than she had. “ _I’m so bored. And hungry. I’ve never wanted ice cream so bad in my life. Never I swear.”_  
 _“And why are You texting in class?”_  
Peter turned his phone off while waiting for MJ to reply, his head pounding. Ok, so maybe Mr. Stark was right about not looking at screens.   
He shut his eyes, letting the welcoming darkness soothe the pain and nausea. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. He didn’t even notice his phone buzzing from where it sat beside him. 

Peter opened his eyes to a knock at the door.   
“Peter?”  
He blinked, his mind putting together the knocking and MJ’s voice and- wait what time was it? He must’ve fallen asleep.  
“Come in,” he called as MJ knocked again, sheepishly searching around for his phone, but it had to have fallen off the bed while he was sleeping.  
The door swung open, and Peter braced himself for an onslaught of light, but the hallway light must’ve been turned off because he was just met with more darkness.   
“Now,” MJ said sternly, stepping into the room with something balanced in her arms that Peter couldn’t see, “this is not a jailbreak. But I did kinda just walk in here so I’m not sure how allowed it is.”   
She held something out to Peter, and it took him a second to realize that she was handing him a frosty. He beamed at her, propping himself up so he could eat it.   
“Oh my god,” he mumbled through bites of ice cream, “I love you so much, thank you.”   
She sat on the end of his bed, pulling out her own frosty- vanilla, which usually Peter would jokingly point out, but right now he was too grateful and also concussed- and grinned back at him, something soft glinting in her expression.   
“You’re welcome. And I love you too. Now slow down, you’re gonna get a brain freeze.”  
She was right, and he did, but it didn’t really matter. 


	2. Starving

Somehow, after that first impromptu frosty party in the med-bay, prompted by a concussed Peter and cabin fever, it became their tradition.   
It started with Peter texting MJ something dumb, an _“I’m starving here 🥺”_ or _“Dr. Cho said the best medicine for a broken leg is ice cream,,,”_. But then as time went on, even just news of Peter being hurt would send her running to the nearest Wendy’s.  
She kinda wished it hadn’t for a while, when her bank account threatened to overdraft after a particularly bad month when Doc Ock came up with the incredibly jackass plan to put a hit on Spider-Man with every villain available. But then she’d jokingly mentioned to Peter that she might not be able to buy their frosties anymore, and overnight her bank account leveled back out, and the next time she went to a Wendy’s, they gave her the order for free.   
She suspected it had something to do with a certain billionaire, but hey, she wasn’t complaining.   
As much as she joked about it, she didn’t mind the frosty runs either. It gave her something to do, something to worry about other than her idiot boyfriend who kept getting beaten up by lunatics in weird costumes. And when she got back, he’d give her that soft smile and she’d have to hide her blush, and he’d play up how delicious his chocolate frosty was, watching her with that look in his eyes, the special one that he reserved for only her.   
That’s what she was waiting for, their milkshakes sitting untouched on a tray as her eyes flitted over the tubes and wires framing Peter’s pale skin, his chest rising and falling mechanically from the tube jammed down his throat. He just needed to open his eyes, give her that smile, joke around; _“wow, is this what it takes to get a frosty around here?"_  
She wrapped her hands around her own vanilla, the condensation dripping into her hands like a sort of prayer. She didn’t dare eat it, she couldn’t have anyway, with the way bile was turning somersaults in her stomach, so she just stared into the cup as the ice cream melted.  
“Please,” she whispered to her vanilla, every breath scraping in her chest. “Please.”  
Without looking up, she moved one hand from the cup, resting it on the bed just shy of Peter’s hand, incapable of crossing some invisible barrier between them.   
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying and failing to bite back the tears stinging at her eyes.   
“Please,” she said again, louder this time, something painful building in her chest. “I love you.” 


End file.
